


delicta maiorum

by cheloniidae



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Brotherhood-Enclave War, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:39:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28217094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheloniidae/pseuds/cheloniidae
Summary: On the eve of the Battle for Hoover Dam, Veronica learns a secret that should have stayed buried.(She can twist the Codex into knots to justify it, but the facts are these: Arcade is her friend, and he doesn’t deserve to die.)
Relationships: Arcade Gannon & Veronica Santangelo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	delicta maiorum

The guards at the Old Mormon Fort make Veronica hand over her power fist, and as she stands barehanded in a courtyard more deserted than one of Scribe Taggart’s game nights, she knows Etta was right about the battle coming soon. There are no white coats in sight; no doctors leaning against the tents or chatting up the guards. They must all be inside, preparing for the bloodbath. Etta wanted to be prepared, too, which was why she insisted on going over their gear this morning. And she isn’t from California, which was why she didn’t hesitate to show off a set of nightmare-faced Tesla armor to a Brotherhood Scribe.

Veronica finds Arcade alone in his tent, hunched over a chemistry set, filling syringes from a beaker. They’re homemade stimpaks, judging by the color and the way the scent of broc flower clubs Veronica over the head like it wants her caps. If there was any justice in the world, such a useful plant would smell more like perfume and less like a casino pit.

Arcade keeps adding to his pile of stimpaks. He doesn’t look up, even when Veronica’s shadow falls just a few inches short of his chair. A soldier would. It isn’t proof she can take to McNamara, but it’s enough for her. Arcade isn’t one of the boogeymen from the Codex’s stories. He isn’t the enemy.

She’s right about this, God damn it. She knows him.

“Arcade,” she says, rapping her knuckles against the cloth of the tent.

Arcade’s head snaps up. He winces, one hand going to massage his neck, the other still holding a syringe. “What brings you to the most boring place in Freeside?” He pauses, seeing the look on her face. “Did Etta figure out who’s been taking her Nuka-Cola?”

“Not yet. And hey,” she adds, crossing her arms, “half of those were for you.”

“Half?”

“Okay, a third.” Veronica pretends to think. “Maybe a quarter. It’s not like she was there to drink them.”

“Veronica Santangelo, the noble soda thief, saving colas from a cruel life of abandonment.”

Veronica catches herself grinning, and she forces her mouth into a line. It’s easy — too easy— to joke with Arcade, even now. It’s too easy to forget what she came here for. “We need to talk about Hoover Dam,” she says. The courtyard is still empty, the guards too far away to overhear, but she closes the tent flap just to be safe. Rays of sunlight filter through seams and holes in the weather-beaten canvas.

Arcade turns his chair to face her, blinking in the dim light. “Do we have a secret plan no one told me about?” he asks, drawing out the first syllable. “Should I be taking notes?”

“Arcade. I had to stop Etta from wearing Tesla armor to a battle full of Paladins and NCR Rangers.”

“Is that... some kind of power armor? It wouldn’t be the strangest thing she’s scavenged this month. Remember the missile launchers? Crazy.” Arcade fidgets with his glasses. “Crazy,” he says again, quieter. He’s the worst liar Veronica’s ever seen. It’s endearing when she’s crushing him at poker, but not when she’s risking—

What _is_ she risking? McNamara finds out she kept Arcade’s secret, and she spends the rest of her life in exile. If she’s lucky. If he’s merciful. The chapter won’t care that Arcade never fought; all they’ll see is the stain of Navarro, and that stain will be on her, too. God.

No point putting it off. “I know you were with the Enclave,” she says.

Arcade recoils from the name, pressing his back against his chair, putting a few more inches of distance between himself and Veronica. He’s silent for so long that she thinks he must be coming up with another lie. If he denies it, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. Finally, he asks, “Etta told you?”

“She didn’t have to. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

Another long, long silence. “ _Delicta maiorum immeritus lues,_ ” Arcade says, bleaker than a sun-bleached salt flat. He won’t meet her eyes. Veronica doesn't know what the Latin means, but she knows what a man looks like when he thinks he's saying his last words.

It’s a punch to the gut. Veronica saw the armor, saw past Etta’s bullshit explanation of scavenging it from an army bunker— and instead of notifying the chapter, like she should have, she chose to come here. Turning Arcade in was never on the table. She can twist the Codex into knots to justify it, but the facts are these: He’s her friend, and he doesn’t deserve to die. “I’m not here to kill you,” Veronica says. She feels sick for having to say it.

Arcade looks up at her with the dazed bewilderment of someone coming out of a nightmare. This is one for him, she realizes too late. How many Enclave fugitives did the Brotherhood hunt down? How many did he know? And she’s blocking the only exit from the tent, and nobody can see inside, and the guards are too far to help. From where he’s sitting, none of this can look good.

“I’m here so you don’t get yourself killed,” she continues, urgently. “What were you thinking? If Etta shows up in original-issue Tesla armor, people are gonna ask questions. Enclave tech is serious! The Brotherhood'll see through her story just like I did, and they’ll trace it back to you, and _I can’t protect you_.”

It’s the last part that hurts the most. McNamara won’t listen to her— not about the future of the chapter, and not about this. The Codex says that the Enclave is to be destroyed to the last man, so that’s what he’ll do. Even if it means killing someone who isn’t — who never was— a threat. The Enclave in the Codex tried to wipe out the whole wasteland; Arcade is here, with the Followers, fighting to keep people alive. He’s nothing like them.

Arcade Gannon is a good man, and nobody but her would care.

Arcade sinks into his seat. “It belonged to my father. I thought he’d be proud to see it make a difference against Caesar. You’ll find it hard to believe, but there were good people at Navarro. He was one of them.”

He’s right. She doesn’t believe him. “I didn't know him, but I know you. You don't deserve to be punished for what he— what the Enclave did. And you _will_ be, if anybody but Etta and me sees that armor.”

“I'll tell her to forget about it.”

“I already did. She’s hiding it somewhere Boone won't find it on accident.”

He nods, accepting the necessity of it. “Now you know,” he says. “You’re... really okay with this?” He gestures to himself, encapsulating the whole secretly-a-former-member-of-a-group-that-the-Brotherhood-has-sworn-to-wipe-out thing. Arcade's gestures are very expressive.

“I’m harboring an Enclave fugitive,” Veronica says, which is the only answer she can give to that.

He sits up with a start, eyes widening. “What happens to you if—”

“Be more careful, and we won’t have to find out.” And then: “Nothing good. I can say that for sure.”

“I’m sorry for getting you involved.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry you got me involved, too.” Veronica cracks a small smile, even though none of this is funny. “For somebody who’s been hiding for so long, I gotta say, you’re pretty bad at it.”

Arcade snorts. “Moreno used to say the same thing, but with less tact and subtlety. It’s why I ended up out here in the middle of Nevada. Part of it, anyway.”

Moreno. She remembers that name from— from somewhere, doesn’t she? One of Scribe Taggart’s lectures. She’d fallen asleep, and Christine nudged her awake just in time to see the list of names written on the board. The worst of the Enclave’s war criminals, rats who squirmed through the Brotherhood’s iron grasp. “Tell me you don’t know where Orion Moreno is,” she says. Her smile is gone.

“What—”

“Tell me right now.”

Arcade holds his hands up, palms facing out, and Veronica looks away so she can’t catch him lying. “I don’t know where Orion Moreno is.”

That has to be enough for her. If Moreno is still alive... The NCR and the Brotherhood are allies again, at least out here. They’ll find him. “All right. Okay.” She takes a breath, in and out. “If there are other Enclave soldiers in the Mojave, I can’t look the other way.”

“I won’t ask you to,” Arcade says, solemnly.

And that’s all Veronica can expect from him. She thinks about offering to help with the stimpaks. The Followers are going to need all they can get, soon. It’s what she’d do on any other day: pull up a chair next to Arcade’s, and they’d talk and work and talk. But who knows what else he’ll accidentally admit if she stays? She’s as scared of his mouth as she is for him. There’s only so much she can look away from.

“Etta thinks the Legion’s gonna attack tomorrow.” Veronica knows a topic of conversation is bad when talking about a war is more comfortable. “This is probably the last time I’ll see you before the fighting starts.”

“About Hoover Dam,” Arcade starts, like he's about to confess something, and Veronica gives him a look, and he stops dead. “Just... good luck. _Fortis fortuna adiuvat_.”

Finally, some Latin she knows. She manages a weak grin. “I’m plenty bold. Fortune’s gonna love me.” She takes a step towards Arcade, and all of her training stops her. She can hug him after they win. After the revelation turns from a fresh cut to a bandaged one. “Stay safe,” she says, instead. “I’ll see you when it’s over.”

That’s a promise.


End file.
